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The two direwolves, one of a rich midnight color and the other of a spring forest, gaze out from behind a cart at the foot of the ruined windmill, hidden thick in the grasses but not blinded to the ongoings of man in front of them.  Charging into the small pathway, the two watch as an arrow pierces the leg of an older man, obviously being chased as the horse whinnies and gallops in fear as the man falls off its back.  And not too soon, there are a collection of fur-clad people--wildlings--that rush into the small clearing, grabbing up the elder man by the neck of his coat, though he shows no weakness.

    "Let me go with a bit of dignity," the man does not plead, but practically demands of these ruthless characters.  But all the same, the wildlings do not listen, Orell aiding Tormund in lifting this man, the latter of which prepares to slit his throat when Orell turns his eyes on Jon.

"Make the crow kill him," the warg proposes, his teeth a sickly color as they grin with a taunting act.  "You're one of us now.  Prove it."

Ygritte stares at Jon, the black cloak no longer adorning his form, but paired instead by grey and white cloaks of wildling origin.  And at the test this is, Jon unsheathes his Valyrian steel sword, placing it against the man's crouched neck, though there is no cowering in said man's eyes as he remarks, "She looks sharp."

Jon stares at him then, seeing the innocents that would be killed if Mance got his way.  The elderly man closes his eyes and turns his head back to the ground then, his voice a hoarse whisper as he reveals his goodness, praying to the Old Gods for salvation.  And it is this revelation that has Jon hesitating to even raise his sword upon a perfectly innocent man.

But Ygritte's adamant that Jon proves his loyalty to her, taunting, "Do it.  Do it."

Jon just stares at Ygritte, simply overcome with this decision that's happened far too soon for his liking, although he has no chance.  Ygritte or Westeros.  When he thinks of it that way, there is not much of a question as to what he should do, though Jon's found more love in this female than he ever received from those of Westeros.  But all the same, it is a different type of love, one that's with amorous intentions and not of sacrificing and family.  The Westerosi love is the love she fails to understand--and does not wish to--and that...Jon cannot live without that love.

"Told ya.  He's still one of them," Orell taunts, failing to see past Jon's facade but instead fixated on proving Jon's loyalty to be false, if only to win a woman.

Tormund seems to be thinking the same, giving him the last chance, "Go on, boy."

Jon raises his sword back then, if only to give himself a moment's second to rethink--though it proves to be no use, as his choice has been made.  He drops the sword without hitting the neck of the elderly man, Ygritte shooting him in the chest with an arrow as Jon's eyes turn dangerously, traitorously, upon Orell.

That look sends them into flight, Jon and Ygritte fighting against the others who far outnumber them, arrows flying and swords clanging loudly as they impact against axe.  And though Jon fails to notice at first, many of the wildlings find themselves falling to the rather rabid intentions to Shaggydog, leaving its brother to protect another brother's owner.  Jon and Ygritte finds themselves being herded in by the remaining foes, Jon staring in wonder as Shaggydog--much grown--gallops to protect them, baring its teeth at the almost surprised wildlings.

"He's a crow.  He'll always be a crow.  And here's his crow wife guarding him," Orell shouts, finally taking his stand against Ygritte as well, mind muddled with anger.  "He'll stab us in the back first chance he gets."

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